


It's for a case, John

by TooManyChoices



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Blackmail, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Breaking and Entering, Case Fic, First Kiss, First Time, Fist Fights, Frottage, Homophobia, It's all very British, John's confused, Lord Castorbridge is a dick, M/M, Public Blow Jobs, Second Thoughts, Self-Conscious Sherlock, Sherlock's confused, Shower Sex, Swimming Pools, Top John, Wet!Lock, Who cares about that tag?, lockpicking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-24 01:58:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooManyChoices/pseuds/TooManyChoices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock and John are sent undercover to investigate a case of blackmail, more is required of them than they expected. Sometimes the best way to progress is just to push through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Somebody's been up to something naughty

"I'll apologise later, just go along with it, alright?" These were the final hastily muttered words that John caught before his flatmate crushed his lips roughly against his own and three men with rifles burst through the door. John sucked an alarmed breath in through his nose as Sherlock turned him slightly, blocking the men from his view.

All-in-all, John thought, this evening's plan to break into the Lord's study wasn't going exactly to schedule.

 

**36 hours earlier**

"So these members of Parliament are being blackmailed. What for?"

"Mycroft didn't say, which makes me think it's likely to be something deliciously deviant." Sherlock smiled as he took the proffered cup of tea.

"And why, exactly, does he think you and I should go and sort it out? He hasn't done anything recently to earn any favours from you." John asked, dunking a Hobnob into his own cup. "Has he?"

Sherlock looked evasive, "There may have been an offer to fulfil a certain familial obligation at a future time."

"What did he offer, Sherlock?"

"Nothing of great imp..."

"Sherlock!"

"It's my turn to host my Mother and Father next time they're in London. Mycroft has offered to put them up."

John heaved a frustrated sigh, "You're a rubbish son, Sherlock. Your parents are lovely."

Sherlock shrugged noncommittally, "In limited doses John, in VERY limited doses. Moving on, we have tickets on this afternoon's train. The estate caters for wealthy patrons who desire to 'get away from the city', which is another way of saying 'prying eyes'. We'll arrive at the estate late tonight and we can assess the situation in the morning."

"Then I'd best go pack."

 

**26 hours ago**

The train trip to the estate had been uneventful and dinner, a luxuriant spread courtesy of the Lord and Lady Castorbridge and no doubt funded by Mycroft was sitting pleasantly in John's stomach.

He sprawled hedonistically on top of the comforter of his king sized bed. For a rare and pleasant change, nobody had assumed the two men would be sleeping in the same room and as a result, he and Sherlock had been accommodated in matching suites on opposite sides of a corridor in the East wing. While he could increasingly see why people jumped to conclusions about them, they had not, in fact been 'rooting like rabbits for years' and instead seemed to have fallen into a close and amicable friendship that included shared bathrooms and tea, and didn't include getting each other off whenever they were left alone together.

Not that escalating their relationship would have bothered John. He wasn't blind enough to overlook Sherlock's obvious attractions, or in fact that the detective's sexual interest clearly leaned more toward men than women. It was more that it seemed they'd somehow missed their opportunity. He couldn't quite put his finger on when would have been the right time, only that if there had been a moment, then the frantic and dangerous nature of their lives had gotten in the way.

John's eyes were just drifting closed when Sherlock slipped though the door and closed it quietly behind him.

"John. John! Wake up."

John levered himself up on his elbows, "What? Whatever it is, can't it wait until morning."

"No. Come-on, I want to have a poke around." Sherlock paused for a moment and scanned the room, "That's odd." he muttered.

"What is?"

"Your room, it's identical to mine, an exact mirror image." Sherlock stood, back to the door, "Bed, mirror on the facing wall, couch under the window. Exactly the same." His brow furrowed in thought.

"Not so strange, these are the guest suites. Likely they've been planned this way."

"Even so....." Sherlock rubbed a hand across his forehead, "There's something about the layout, not just of the rooms....."

John pushed himself up off the bed, "It'll come to you, give it time. It always does." Joining him at the door, he placed a gentle hand on his arm, "Now, let's go find some trouble to get ourselves into."

Sherlock smiled and opened the door.

 

**23 Hours ago**

A thorough snoop had yielded very little, save a tense moment tucked in the pantry while one of the guests rummaged around in the fridge for a late night snack. They were returning to their rooms when Sherlock tried the door to the library and found it locked. If there's anything that's guaranteed to pique Sherlock's interest, it's a locked room and this was no exception. Kneeling down to look at the lock while John stood watch, Sherlock tried a series of picks before declaring it beyond his ability and that they'd need the key.

Glancing at his watch, John stifled a yawn as Sherlock rose to his feet.

"Perhaps we should head back, it's nearly one. You can get some sleep and I can give this some thought." Sherlock began to lead them back through the maze of corridors toward their rooms before pausing at a junction of hallways, glancing in both directions thoughtfully.

"What is it?" John had seen Sherlock's head lift, as if scenting a clue on the breeze.

"Something....." Sherlock paused a moment, "Wait here." he backtracked down the corridor and then paced back before continuing to their suite doors and striding back again. "There's something...." Sherlock sighed, "I almost had it, I can feel it."

"Whatever it is, I'm feeling the need for sleep. So I'll see you in the morning. Try and get some rest, OK?"

Sherlock nodded, distracted as they went their separate ways to their own beds.

 

**19 Hours ago**

"John...wake up."

"G'way...Not rostered on until noon."

"John...." A gentle finger grazed John's cheek, pulling him from a rather pleasant dream. "Wake up."

John's eyes opened to stare into Sherlock's, barely inches apart on the pillow beside him. He had long since become immune to waking in the most unlikely of situations and apart from a slight lift of his brow, the close proximity of his flatmate did little to startle him.

"What time is it, Sherlock?"

"Just past 5am." Sherlock whispered, "I've worked it out." His eyes were sparkling in triumph.

"Worked what out?" John relied lazily, the edges of sleep slipping away.

"The rooms.....I know why they're laid out this way." Sherlock's voice was pitched low and intimate.

"Hmmmm?"

"The mirrors, John. It's a one way mirror."

"Why?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "I'll excuse that question on the basis that you've just woken up and wouldn't normally be this stupid."

John huffed a gentle laugh, "Thanks for that. Can the idiot have an answer anyway?"

"Blackmail John. There's a crawlspace behind the mirrors, I expect so that they can film the guests."

"So they come here and..."

"Yeeess...." Sherlock responded with a suggestive leer.

"And they film...." John cast his eyes toward the mirror facing the bed.

"Yeesss." Sherlock nodded with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"Oh." John replied, looking discomforted.

"Don't be concerned John, I very much doubt the blackmailers will find anything noteworthy in any solitary pursuits you may have undertaken upon returning to bed last night."

"Yes....thanks for that." John blushed and threw the covers back, padding barefooted to the ensuite.

 

**5 Hours ago**

The day passed uneventfully. Nothing more was said about the rooms, the mirrors or indeed the required key to gain entrance to the library. John had almost concluded that Sherlock had decided against another attempt on the door until he quietly reached for John's hand under the table during dinner and, as John chocked on his soup at the unexpected touch, pressed a key into his palm.

Sherlock leaned in close, and whispered intimately, "Smile and laugh as if I've just made a very inappropriate suggestion. Trust me, it's important."

John raised his eyebrows but nevertheless chuckled as he shook his head, grinning at Sherlock.

Sherlock again leaned in, closer this time, nuzzling the hair behind John's ear. The warm breath made John shiver, but the adrenaline that was suddenly coursing through his veins had more to do with Sherlock's implied threat of danger than arousal, although he'd be lying if he denied any reaction.

"I've had a message from Mycroft." Sherlock's voice was muffled and low amongst John's hair, "They've pulled the bodies of two members of parliament from the Thames, this just got a lot more dangerous."

John gasped, and then to cover the slip as eyes turned toward them, tilted his head as if encouraging Sherlock's attention at his neck.

Sherlock nuzzled in again, shifting closer and feigning enthusiasm at John's response. "We need to get into that library. There must be film, or at least photos in there. Something we can use."

John nodded, seemingly in answer to an unheard question, before pushing the detective gently away, detaching him from his neck and laughing awkwardly and turning to their host.

John stood and apologised, "Sorry about that, I'd like to congratulate you on the quality of your wine, my partner isn't usually this susceptible. I think, for everyone's sake, I'd better get him to bed."

Sherlock, picking up the cue, rose unsteadily and wavered in John's direction, placing a proprietorial hand on his arm, "Mmmm, bed. That sounds like an excellent idea." and added a salacious wink for good measure.

John blushed, not entirely for show and led Sherlock from the room and up the stairs to their suite.

 

**4 Hours ago**

Sherlock slumped against John, his arms draped languidly around the shorter man, head pillowed in the nook where John's neck met his shoulder.

"I suspect we're being watched," Sherlock murmured, "Take me to bed and we'll sneak out once the house settles for the night."

"Pardon?" John squeaked, focussed more on the first part of Sherlock's statement.

"Put me to bed...sorry...Put me to bed." Sherlock chuckled against John's neck, "Although...If you're open to the idea...."

Struck by the ridiculousness of the suggestion, given the situation and the fact that they were almost certainly being observed, John's gentle giggle soon devolved into a hearty laugh, He wound his arms around his friend and guided him toward the bed, "Tempting though the suggestion may be Sherlock, if you're to insist on your fiction of being three-sheets to the wind, any footage they got of your performance would be well below my expectations of you."

Sherlock paused en-route to the bed and turned to face John, hope and desire warring with confusion on his face, "I thought you didn't..."

John leaned in close, "Not the best time or place for this conversation, but for the sake of clarity, it's all fine Sherlock." He placed a quick kiss on the detective's cheek, "It would ALL be fine, just so you know."

John tucked Sherlock up in bed, delighting in the subtle flush that remained on his cheeks and the slightly elevated breathing. Sitting on the side of the bed, to cement the ruse for anyone watching, John brought his face down to Sherlock's, lips hovering over each other.

"Night love." The words slipped easily from John's mouth surprising them both and John wondered if he looked as dumbfounded as Sherlock. Hoping to avoid any response that could shatter the illusion, John closed the gap and swiftly kissed Sherlock on the cheek before pulling away and rising from the bed.

"Get some rest, we'll talk in the morning." John turned the doorknob and, his heart hammering in his chest, swung the door open.

"Night John." Sherlock managed weakly after the door had closed again, "Sleep well."

 

**1 hour before**

Three hours, John thought. It had seemed more like three years. He replayed the words over and over again in his head. What had started out as a simple ruse, perhaps with some shameless flirting thrown in had somehow gotten out out control and John had let the endearment slip without thinking. _Night love_.....LOVE....Stupid, so stupid of him.

He lay in the dark, fully dressed wondering if he could convince Sherlock it was an act, knowing that he may as well try to convince the man that he was the President of the United States. The man saw everything, knew..everything.

The almost silent click of the latch and subtle breeze alerted John before Sherlock's weight dipped the bed.

"Ready?" The familiar voice held nothing but the usual enthusiasm for the chase. Sherlock reached out a hand and John gratefully took it and used the momentum to rise from the bed.

As they made their way down the hallway, John murmured quietly, "Listen Sherlock, about before."

"Later."

"Yes, right....only..."

"Later!" Sherlock hissed, "Please John....later."

John lapsed into silence again, walking faster as Sherlock lengthened his stride. Upon reaching the door, John handed back the key Sherlock had passed him earlier and with a quiet snick, the lock surrendered and they slipped into the room.

Pulling a pair of flashlights from his pockets, Sherlock handed one over and moved to the filing cabinets beginning the search for damning evidence. John moved to the opposite side of the room, checking along bookshelves for secret latches and hidden drawers. Finding none, he joined Sherlock, working through the top drawer and Sherlock knelt at his feet searching the file near the floor.

John was still methodically sorting through files when Sherlock pushed his own drawer shut and moved to the desk. He'd barely opened a drawer before the light went on and the sound of a distant siren alerted them to an alarm they'd clearly triggered.

"Damn," Sherlock swore under his breath, "Damn. Stupid, I was distracted and didn't check the drawer. John, over here, quickly." He gestured to John, "Take off your shirt...quickly."

While John was shedding his jumper and shirt, he heard the sound of papers and other materials being pushed from the top of the desk and when he again looked, Sherlock had cleared a space on the wide mahogany surface and was hurriedly undoing buttons.

"Over here John, now. If we can't sell this, we'll be joining those men in the Thames."

 

**Now**

"I'll apologise later, just go along with it, alright?" Sherlock's lips crushed against John's as Sherlock lifted him bodily onto the desk, quickly messed up both their hair and slotted himself between John's legs, blocking his view of the door.

"Gentlemen." The voice from the doorway demanded attention, and Sherlock turned to glance at them.

"Oh. We appear to have attracted an audience, John. Not really my thing, I'm afraid. Perhaps we should retire to my room and continue this in private." Sherlock offered John a hand and he slid from the desk.

"They have guns, Sherlock. Pointed at us." John added helpfully.

"Yes, I can see that. I'm sorry gentlemen, it's possible we triggered an alarm in our......enthusiasm." Sherlock's tone held a touch of contrition and smugness. Even John was beginning to believe they'd been engaging in some sneaky snogging on the Lord's desk.

One of the guards gestured to the others to lower their weapons and moved to check the drawers, all of which Sherlock had pushed closed as soon as the alarm sounded.

Looking skeptical, he gestured to the two men, "Get out of here. This door should have been locked, so I don't know how you got in here, but I suggest you keep your..." the guard sneered, "....activities within your own room for the remainder of your stay."

By the time Sherlock and John reached their rooms, there was a nervous giggle of energy threatening to escape John's lips. He assumed they'd part ways at this point so was surprised when Sherlock pushed open his own door and turned to grab John's arm and drag him through.

"They'll still be watching, we need to make this good." Sherlock backed John toward the bed and when his intent wasn't immediately clear, hooked a foot around John's ankle and pushed him so he sat heavily on the edge.

"Sherlock...?"

"Shhh....thinking." Sherlock looked pained and indecisive, glancing around the room before seemingly coming to a decision and falling to his knees at John's feet whispering, "Nothing else for it. Just know John, I didn't plan this. I give you my word, this wasn't a scheme."

Sherlock ran his hands up John's thighs, pausing at the top where the crease of leg met hip, he looked up apologetically, "If you have a better idea, now's the time, because I'm all out."

Watching as Sherlock's hands moved to John's belt, the detective still kneeling between his legs, John had a moment of clarity, "Oh, you can't mean..." John managed hoarsely.

"Smile. You're supposed to be enjoying this." Sherlock said tightly as he loosened the buckle, "Relax, I'll do all the work."

"All the.....you can't, Sherlock. I...." John was verging on a panic attack, eyes wide and as he made eye contact, he could see Sherlock's discomfort clear on his face.

Sherlock let out a long slow breath and leaned his forehead on John's knee for a moment, hiding his eyes before raising his head again. Rising up, he leaned forward as if bringing their faces close for a kiss, "John." He said gently, voice barely audible "If you truly find the idea of me doing this to you worse than dying, then say the word." Sherlock blinked slowly, eyes flicking between John's, looking for some kind of reassurance.

All John's doubts hinged on one simple question. This would change them, he knew it would and if it ruined their friendship then he honestly thought that death might be preferable. He had to ask. Hushed and intimate, he whispered, "Have you wanted this? Even before tonight, is this something you've wanted, Sherlock?"

Sherlock's eyes picked up the dim light of the room, "Not with an audience, but yes. For quite some time," he answered simply.

John reached a hand up to tangle in dark curls, closing the gap between their faces in a hurried kiss before pulling back again, "Then to hell with the audience. That's all I needed to know."

As Sherlock sunk back on his heels again, John placed a finger under Sherlock's chin and tilted it up, ensuring he could look in his eyes, "Sherlock..."

The detective paused, concern clear but overlaid with a sense of hope.

"Me too...for quite some time." John assured him with a smile.

Nimble fingers freed him from his jeans, the cool night air dragging a small gasp from him.

"Don't worry, I won't bite." Sherlock glanced up playfully as he circled fingers around the base and drew light fingers over the tip.

"Oh for God's sake, just.....Oh..God." John's irritated tone trailed away as he was engulfed in warm wet heat as Sherlock sank his mouth over the tip, licking and curling around the head. Any doubts he had about being able to respond under the watchful gaze of those behind the mirror evaporated along with any other rational thoughts beyond the sensations at his crotch.

Sherlock pulled off briefly and John whined. Sherlock muttered, his hot breath playing over damp skin, "Close your eyes if the mirror's bothering you. Imagine we're at home." He looked up, catching John's eyes, "It's what I'm doing." he added with a wry smile.

But closing his eyes was the furthest thing from his mind as the warm, wet sensation returned. This wasn't the awkward fumbling blow jobs of university. Sherlock clearly knew what he was doing, curling his tongue, nudging and teasing before closing his mouth fully and sliding down his length, taking him deep in his throat.

John glanced across the room, entranced by the sight of the dark head of hair reflected in the mirror, moving gently at his crotch. The broad, fair expanse of Sherlock's naked back contrasted with the more golden skin of John's thighs, bracketing either side, dark blonde hair nestled against rich curls. John watched as he moved one of his own hands to nestle amongst the ringlets, and John bit his lip as Sherlock hummed at the feeling.

John's hips were twitching of their own accord now, unconsciously trying to lift from the mattress to push into Sherlock's mouth and Sherlock slid his hands under John's thighs, clasping and encouraging the movement.

John had forgotten the mirror, forgotten the room, forgotten anything except Sherlock's talented mouth and the rising pleasure that burned through his veins at each push into that gorgeous mouth. He clenched his fingers tighter in Sherlock's hair and shuddered as Sherlock moaned gloriously at the added tension, pulling John impossibly deeper and redoubling his efforts.

"Sherlock, I'm close..." He tugged at his hair, "I'll come in your mouth if you don't...." he managed to stutter out.

As Sherlock pulled off, John had only a moment to regret his generosity of spirit before Sherlock plunged back down his length and swallowed around the head, overwhelming John with surprise and sensation.

"Christ!....Coming......" John grunted, spasms rocking him as Sherlock swallowed around him again, hands clenched on John's thighs and head stilling as John jerked again and again, eyes clamped shut and mouth open in wordless bliss.

John opened his eyes as he felt Sherlock pull off carefully, the feeling of stubble against the oversensitive inside of his thigh and he felt the man swallow before opening his mouth to pant, warm breath a little too much on delicate skin.

"God, Sherlock....That was....God....Come here, get up here." John pulled ineffectually at Sherlock's hair, his shoulders, anything he could reach. Suddenly desperate to have him close.

Sherlock rose on unsteady legs before toppling face-first onto the bed beside John, an exhausted giggle rumbling from his chest.

"What's so funny?" John managed.

"I had no idea you were such a good actor John," Sherlock mumbled, low enough so only they could hear, "Anyone would think you enjoyed it."

John laughed and swatted wildly in Sherlock's direction, "Shut up. A player's only as good as his team. My performance was inspired by the enthusiasm of my co-star."

Sherlock cleared his throat, still a little rough and mumbled, "I'd like to thank the Academy....for this opportunity....to blow my flat-mate."

John giggled childishly before asking more seriously, "So...what now."

"Now, John, we sleep. We'll make new plans tomorrow."


	2. New day, new plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of the previous night, and the changes in their relationship John and Sherlock must plan their next steps. However, there's still some time for some private activity together.

For the second morning in a row, John opened his eyes to his flatmate's face on the opposite pillow. Unlike the previous morning however, as the tendrils of sleep departed, John smiled lazily remembering how they ended up in the same bed this time.

**6 Hours ago**

After the giggles had subsided, they'd ducked into the ensuite ostensibly for a shower, but more importantly to regroup in the relative privacy that the room provided.

As John stepped in, pulled the shower door closed and turned on the taps, he broke the ice as casually as he could, "So....that happened."

Sherlock snorted as he leaned against the vanity, "Something of an understatement. You OK? I thought with the whole...'not gay' thing, you might be on the verge of some sort of existential crisis."

"Yeah, so I might use that as a way to avoid unwanted attention. For the record, 'not gay' doesn't necessarily mean straight. I like to think of it as 'keeping my options open'."

"Well your options certainly seemed pretty open before."

"Shut it....Didn't see you complaining." John's words held no ranker.

Sherlock laughed, "Well, I couldn't. I had my mouth full."

"Seemed a good way to shut you up." John swung the door of the shower open, "Get in here."

"Why?"

John raised an eyebrow, "Because," John cast an appraising eye over his partner's body, "There's no cameras in here and somebody..." he nodded in Sherlock's direction, "...deserves a little quid-pro-quo."

John watched as Sherlock paused and blinked slowly before shedding his trousers and pants with undisguised haste and stood exposed in the light of the small ensuite, hesitating before John reached out a hand to welcome him under the spray.

Closing the door behind them, John leaned up and kissed Sherlock gently on the lips, "Didn't get a chance to do that properly in the library."

As the water cascaded over Sherlock's head, plastering his curls flat he looked down fondly at John, "It does seem we've managed to get things the wrong way around."

"In what way?"

"Well, we moved in together. I've gotten you off and now we get to the kissing. Seems.... backward."

John crowded Sherlock up against the wall of the shower, grinning when the cold tiles at his back dragged a startled squeak from the taller man, "Well, you knocked me back that first night at Angelos."

"I did, didn't I? And people call me clever." Sherlock quipped, hands at John's hips, making small circles with his thumbs.

"Sherlock...."

"Mmmmmm?"

"Shut up." John brought his lips to Sherlock's again and pressed up against his naked body, effectively ending the conversation.

**Now**

Sherlock's eyes opened slowly, and he blinked as awareness reasserted itself, "Good morning." The deep voice still a little croaky from sleep.

"It certainly is."

"You still OK?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Couldn't be better. You?" John smiled easily.

Sherlock answered with a grin that communicated more than words and rolled out of bed to stretch and pad silently to the ensuite, naked and shameless in the morning light.

"Don't use all the hot water." John shouted.

Sherlock's head appeared around the door frame, "Are you going to be this cranky every morning, or only after we've had sex?" He ducked back inside before the pillow could connect with his face.

John lay back in the bed. It would be easy, too easy, to lose sight of the fact that they still had a job to do here. Suddenly so wound up in each other that they lost sight of the fact that there were two men laying dead in a morgue as a result of whatever was going on here at the estate. While Sherlock showered, John reviewed what they knew:

  * Members of Parliament were being blackmailed
  * The rooms were being monitored, and most likely filmed
  * Therefore, the blackmail likely involved activities that happened in the rooms
  * Whatever information was held in the 'locked' study, it was important enough to bring men with guns running at the alarm sounding
  * Therefore, they needed to get back in and finish their search.



Pleased with his conclusions, John took a moment to reward himself by admiring Sherlock as he strolled back in from his shower. Towelling off his hair, stray droplets of water still clung to his shoulders, reflecting the light in what John privately thought was a rather enticing way.

"Yours." Sherlock muttered from under the towel covering his head.

"God, I hope so." John responded, his voice husky.

Pulling the towel off he glanced at his partner, eyes confused then sparkling in merriment, "The bathroom, John. I meant the bathroom is all yours now."

"Sure?" John licked his lips.

Sherlock climbed across the bed on all fours to loom over John, "Tempting," He leaned down to place a soft yet insistent kiss on Jon's lips, "But we have work to do, and they'll be expecting us at breakfast."

John heaved a theatrical sigh and dragged himself from the bed with a cheeky smile, heading for his own shower.

Twenty minutes later they sat side by side in the breakfast parlour. Although nothing was mentioned, John could swear that their host wore a sneer of derision. Judgemental twat, John thought. If his Lordship had a problem with same sex relationships, then good luck to him. It wasn't illegal, and as far as John was concern, it wasn't even immoral. What consenting adults got up to was their own business and the rest of the world could go hang itself.

But it did give him some ideas about what the blackmail material might be. Being legal was a far cry from what may be called acceptable in some circles. If Lord Castorbridge was intentionally entrapping members of the government and using the evidence against them on the threat that their careers would be ruined, much would be explained. But why murder them? It didn't make sense.

Looking to Sherlock, he was pleased to see him happily tucking into a third helping of eggs. Clearly nocturnal activities had a positive effect on his stomach and John hid a smug smile behind a piece of toast.

"Thought we might explore the grounds today John, if that's alright with out hosts?" He looked to the head of the table, eyes bright and guileless. "I've heard you have a pool?"

"Oh yes! Lady Castorbridge exclaimed. There's a pool-house and sauna at the southern end of the property. The guests love it. Get the keys from the guest-board in the entrance.

Lord Castorbridge cleared his throat a little too loudly for politeness and left the table without a word, his scowl clear.

Draining the last of their tea, John and Sherlock made a quick detour back to their rooms, grabbing swimwear and a couple of towels before heading through the grand entrance hall to the expansive gardens.

"I'm not sure if the pool will be monitored, so we should take this opportunity to plan our next steps." Sherlock was casually dressed in only trousers and shirtsleeves, rolled to the elbows in the warm summer sunshine. It was an uncommonly relaxed look for him and John thought the change from his usual 'working outfit' of suit and Belstaff suited him.

"You have ideas, of course?" John kept pace at his side.

"Lady Castorbridge mentioned taking us hunting this afternoon. I thought we might be able to take advantage of that."

"Hunting? Not really my thing. I've never heard you mention an interest either."

"I have no interest in hunting at all. I do, however, have an interest in getting people out of the house and you staying behind. I thought your 'old war wound' might make a good excuse to avoid the trip."

John nodded, "And do what, exactly?"

"Well," Sherlock paused and turned, "I put the study key back where I found it so as not to raise suspicion, but I can tell you where it is. Then, it's just a matter of waiting until the hunt party leaves, sneaking back into the study, getting the USB sticks I glimpsed in the drawer before we got caught, transmitting the information to Mycroft via your laptop, getting back out and replacing the key. Simple really."

John blinked at him, "Simple? There's any number of things that can go wrong with that plan, you know that?"  
Sherlock lay a firm hand on John's bicep, "I know that John, but I also know you. I have no doubt you can get this done." Sherlock smiled down at him, "No doubt whatsoever."

John sighed and shook his head, "Alright....Walk me through it."

After a thorough explanation, during which John pointed out every flaw he could think of and Sherlock calmly worked through mitigation plans they continued their walk to the pool-house. A white stucco building set amongst the trees, it contained a large indoor pool and a smaller timber sauna room. Locking the door behind them, they had the place to themselves.

To anyone watching, the two men simply wandered the room familiarising themselves with the space. In fact their exploration was far more practical, looking for cameras and microphones and Sherlock heaved a sigh of relief when they concluded the space was clean.

"I really thought they'd have something here. Perhaps the material gathered in the bedrooms contains more reliable evidence. Whatever the case, their oversight is to our benefit."Sherlock dropped the towels on a bench, "Fancy a swim?"

"Thought you'd never ask. Won't be needing these." John pitched his swimming trunks over his shoulder and dropped his jeans to the tiled floor before pulling his shirt over his head.

"Oh..Doctor Watson, you fearless libertine. Skinny dipping? Whatever would his Lordship say?" Sherlock's trousers swiftly joined the growing pile of clothes.

"You caught the looks over breakfast then? Thought you would."

"Yes. I think we can safely say who's behind the trouble here. We just need that evidence and we can get home." Sherlock stepped to the side of the pool and gracefully dove in, the water parting around his lithe form.

"Show off." John muttered before jumping less elegantly into the shallow end and paddling into deeper water.

Sherlock emerged in front of John, head breaking the surface and dark curls sleek and straightened with the water, "We had a pool growing up. I miss it, I loved swimming." He circled effortlessly in the water around John, broad hands parting the water and pushing him through as John struggled to turn in place and watch.

"So you're a water nymph and I'm more of a boat anchor," John grumbled, "...terrific."

Sherlock wove back to his front, "I think you're more of a navigation buoy. Permanent and fixed, but essential to those using the waterways."

"Mr Holmes....are you trying to seduce me?"

"Is it working?" Sherlock laughed.

"Oh yeah..." John said roughly and reached for Sherlock, who ducked away from him and put a body-length between them.

"Then come and get me." Sherlock gestured, fingers curling in a beckoning motion.

"You arse...come here." John paddled toward him to be stymied again when only fingertip distance away.

"Work for it, John..." Sherlock called from half a pool length away, "I know you like a challenge."  
"What I like..." John began a clumsy but effective freestyle up the pool, "...is snogging the world's greatest detective....but punching him in the face is starting to sound pretty good too."

Sherlock ducked under the water again and John swore before gulping a hurried breath as Sherlock grabbed his ankles and dragged him briefly under the water. They resurfaced together, John spluttering and Sherlock supporting him as he caught his breath.

"There...now you're appropriately anointed. Sherlock drew John to him and kissed him soundly. "Would you ever forgive me if I said you're like a sacrament to me, John?"

"It might be a bit...sentimental. Is the need to say it overwhelming?"

"Not yet, ask me later." Sherlock guided them through the water together, backing John up against the wall at the shallow end and crowding up against him.

"God I want you." John circled his arms around Sherlock, gripping tight and pulling them harder together, "How can I want you so much, it's like I'm ravenous?"

"I don't know, but I feel it too." Sherlock sucked at John's neck, the salt-water pool adding to the unique flavour of John's skin. "I've wanted to touch you all morning."

John's head fell back, exposing more skin to Sherlock's ravaging tongue, contenting himself with taking a firm grip on Sherlock's hips and rocking against them. The rumble of Sherlock's groan raising goosebumps.

"Christ John, I could do this all day. Keep you here, against me, tasting you, marking you. I want to keep you...us....right here."

John chuckled as he panted for breath, "As nice as that sounds, I'm not sure I'll last all day. You're just too tempting to hold back that long."

Sherlock grunted as John managed a particularly good wriggle of their hips, "You may....be right. Very well, let's agree that this only constitutes an appetiser or at best, entree. When we get home to Baker Street, we turn the phones off and spend an entire day in bed."

"Agreed. Now, at the risk of being demanding and yet pathetically needy, what I really need right now is for less of the food analogies and more of....." John slid a hand down between them, holding them together and stroking, the water easing the friction, "...God...more of that. Can we do that? I'll beg if I have to."

"I think that may be the most romantic thing anyone's ever said to me." Sherlock laughed, his breath hitching as John applied talented fingers to their task. Sherlock moved a hand to join John's where it grasped around them, twin sets of fingers brushing and touching, sharing the feeling of silky skin and hard muscle moving against each other."

"Never.." Sherlock groaned out, "Never done this before."

"Good....isn't it?" John rested his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder as he panted.

"Might just be that it's you..."

"A guy..can hope." John's words trained off as the mingled sounds of pleasure, the gentle splashing of water and the echo of sound in the tiled room added to the sensory overload.

Quiet gasps and mumbled expletives, desperate sounds of need and want, cohesive sentences lost to them both as they sought release together. Sherlock's feet planted on the base of the pool, John firmly braced against the side, using leverage against each other and the tiles. Swearing as one of Sherlock's feet slipped on tiles and then hoarse chuckles at the ridiculousness of the situation as they reoriented and readjusted. The pace building slowly and deliciously, both wordlessly offering suggestions on grip and speed, taking what they needed and giving just as much.

"Now..God Sherlock..now...Please." John's tone held a note of desperation, and broke raggedly.

Sherlock nodded, a verbal response beyond him as tiny rivulets of sweat mingled with pool-water as it dripped down his face, his mouth tight with the effort of restraint.

John crushed his lips to Sherlock's, his free hand coming up to fist in the taller man's hair as their thrusts began to lose rhythm and John felt Sherlock's muscles tense as he gasped against John's mouth, a sudden bloom of heated liquid where their hands met quickly dispersed in the cooler water of the pool as John succumb to the same pleasure and groaned against his mouth.

They stood together for a few moments, catching their breath before Sherlock eased away, lifting his feet and letting himself float in the water, muscles lax and easy in the water. John too bobbed listlessly in the water, grinning and waving his arms gently under the surface, luxuriating in the weightless feeling added to his post-orgasmic lassitude.

"Definitely more of an entree than starter," Sherlock never strayed far from John's position.

"And we're back to the food analogies." John reached out to brush a curl from where it threatened Sherlock's eyelid.

"I find describing my need for you as a type of hunger surprisingly apt."

"And yet, you're usually remarkably uninterested in food." John quirked an eyebrow.

"Turns out, John. If you're cooking, I'll eat just about anything." He replied before turning to swim toward the ladder, "Come on, we should get dressed and get back to the house."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone that is following this story. I love your feedback and suggestions.


	3. The hunt is on.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Sherlock and John to implement their plan to retrieve the blackmail material.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After one of my characters informed me that Sherlock and John will be staying an extra day, I've added an extra chapter.

**Afternoon**

John didn’t know who he should thank for the beautifully tailored hunting outfit Sherlock was now dressed in, but whomever it was, John was willing to send them flowers for a year just for the way those trousers emphasised his arse as he sat comfortably in the saddle.

John waved the group goodbye as they wheeled their horses around, and waited until they’d disappeared into the trees before he turned to make his way back inside.

Their expectation was that the vast majority of the staff, excepting those in the kitchen, would accompany the group on the hunt leaving perhaps one or two for John to dodge as he got to work.

As they’d decided, John took a seat in the parlour, laptop on knees and sat typing quietly for around half an hour, ears alert for any movements around the house. Satisfied that things were quiet, John made his way to the key safe in the admin office that Sherlock had pointed out to him on their return from the pool.

They’d shared a smile over the fact that, although the library door lock was beyond either Sherlock or John’s skill with lockpicks, it turned out that the key safe was a cheap model and now John had the safe door open and the library key in his hand in under a minute.

Pocketing it, he casually walked the halls, stopping to look at paintings and sculptures, seemingly stretching his legs in the event anyone passed. Nobody did and he heaved a sigh of relief as he slipped into the library and locked the door behind him.

Retrieving Sherlock’s mobile from his jeans pocket, he dialled Mycroft’s private number, knowing that Mycroft wouldn’t ignore a call from Sherlock.

“Sherlock?” The voice was equal parts irritated and concerned.

“No, It’s John. Are you alone?” John asked, hushed.

“Just a moment Dr. Watson…” There was a pause which John assumed would be Mycroft absenting himself from whatever meeting of evil masterminds he was attending right now, “…Go ahead. Is my brother alright?”

“Yes, yes..we’re fine, but things are a little…tricky.” John moved the mobile so that it was gripped between ear and shoulder as he moved to the desk and started looking for alarm trip pads.

“What do you need?” Mycroft’s voice had become clipped and practical. It was exactly what they needed right now.

“We’ve found some USB keys, but we can’t just nick them. Sherlock was hoping you could read them remotely.” John’s tongue peeked between his lips as he deftly disabled the alarm on the drawer and drew it open, breathlessly waiting for alarms to sound and then relaxing slightly when there were none.

“Do you have your laptop, John?” Mycroft asked briskly.

“Yes.” The open drawer revealed four USB sticks, unassuming in their metallic greyness.

“Do turn it on for me.”

“Should I….”

“Just turn it on, John. Then leave the rest to me.”

John watched discomforted as his familiar desktop screen disappeared and was replaced by something that looked straight out of a 1980's computer movie, all back background and vivid green writing. Words appeared and disappeared at a flashing prompt, too quickly for John to catch anything but the most basic commands. 

"John.....are you there?" The voice in his ear startled him back to attention, "Can you plug in the first stick?"

John followed the instructions, keeping an ear out for sounds in the doorway but hearing none. He watched the tiny light on the USB stick flash as the data was pulled across the network to wherever Mycroft was tucked away in what he imagined was a medieval bunker complete with torture racks and hunchback henchmen.

"Next one please."

Obediently, John swapped to the next, replacing the first in the drawer where he'd found them. Checking his watch, he wondered when the hunt group were due back. How long did it take to pursue and, he thought hopefully, not find any game. He hoped Sherlock was safe, and that thought distracted him with what they'd been up to that morning and what they could potentially be doing later that night.

"John....John!" He wondered how many times Mycroft had called his name and John switched to the third stick.

"Sorry...I'm here." John felt himself flush and considered how ridiculous that was given Mycroft was at the other end of a phone line and in any case, had no idea what he'd been thinking about doing with his brother.

"Not much longer, hold your nerve Captain." Mycroft clearly thought John's distraction was a result of nerves and perhaps that was for the best."You can change to the last one now."

"OK....done." John could feel his heart-rate slowing as the task neared its end. Soon he'd be out of here, the key would be returned and from there, it was just a matter of wrapping things up and getting home to Baker Street.

"Alright John. Tell Sherlock it will take about twelve hours to decrypt. So continue doing what you're doing, John and we'll get you a message tomorrow."

_Continue doing what we're......hang on...tomorrow?_

"Sorry Mycroft, did you say we're here for another day? Surely we should be getting out of here now you have the information?"

"John, we won't know what we've got until we can look at it. If this doesn't contain sufficient material, you'll need to find more. I'm sorry John, but you'll just have to manage. Just keep your head down and ensure my brother doesn't get in any deeper than is needed to do the job."

John almost dropped the mobile as the double meaning struck home, recovering and steadying it against his ear. "Sure...sure. I understand. Mycroft..."

"Hmm?"

"How much danger are we in?" John asked softly.

Mycroft's aloof tone faltered for a moment and John could tell he was holding his phone closer so as not to be overheard, "Enough, John...enough to be very, very careful."

**Evening**

John had no trouble replacing the key exactly where he found it and the next thing he knew he was being gently nudged awake. He'd fallen asleep in the afternoon sun where he'd settled to relax and read in the large gazebo. Sherlock grinned down at him, hair a riot of messy curls with occasional sticks and leaves tangled in their depths.

"Look at you, napping like an old man in your country armchair." Sherlock smoothed back an errant lock of John's hair fondly.

John yawned and turned his head to relax the kinks from it, "Need to keep my energy up. I have a new exercise regime, it's a bit....demanding." John grinned cheekily up at his lover, "How was the hunt, catch anything?"

"No...thank god. I put up a good show of sharing everyone's disappointment but to be honest, the idea of us finding something some innocent animal to slaughter turned my stomach. Good ride though." Sherlock pulled up a chair beside John and slumped into it.

"How's your....." John flicked his eyes downward.

"My seat, John?" He smiled with a hint of mischief, "My parents' stablehand always told me I had an arse perfect for riding."

John realised after several quiet moments that his mouth had fallen open, speechless at Sherlock's words and implication.

"I'm joking, John." Sherlock's carefree laughter echoed in the gazebo. He laughed all too rarely, John thought and hoped he'd hear it more in future, "....He said I was born for it."

John chuckle joined Sherlock's and together they laughed until they were wheezing for breath, clutching their ribs and wiping at watering eyes. After the stress of the past couple of days, it felt good to relax, if only for a little while. Any concern John felt that the changes taking place in their relationship might negatively effect the unshakable friendship they'd developed over the years evaporated. If anything, this new ease boded well for the future.

"So.." Sherlock asked carefully, "How was your day?"

Taking the hint, John nodded, "Yeah, good. Got all caught up on my laptop." He paused, thinking about how to phrase his next words, "Hey, I spoke to your brother."

"Mycroft? How is he?"

"Good, he's good. Send's his regards. He's looking forward to seeing us day after tomorrow"

Sherlock did a double take but hid it well, "Day after tomorrow?"

"Yeah, thinks we should stay an extra day, just in case there's....In case we're not ready to come home yet."

"Ah, I see." Sherlock pondered the information, John could see him working through options.  
"Said he'll ring us tomorrow to let us know the train times."

"Good, that's....good."

"So.." John stood and stretched, "I suppose that means an early night."

Sherlock watched John's back arch, hands supporting his lower back and murmured low and rough, "Maybe I could give you some riding lessons."


	4. And so, to bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's plans for the evening include taking Sherlock apart, piece by piece.  
> Warning: Angst and a cliff hanger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing thanks to everyone that's enjoying this. Keep those comments coming. I'm not sure how this two chapter light casefic has become a six chapter smutty, angsty, casefic but who am I to argue?
> 
> I don't own any part of the ACD mythology. But that's fine, because it seems they belong to everybody.
> 
> BBC Sherlock belongs to Moffat and Gatiss and I remain indebted to them for giving us this new interpretation.

**Night**

  
Dinner that evening was a simple buffet of cold meats and fruits. The guests mingled in clustered groups of two and three dotted around the room making polite conversation and enquiring sympathetically about ‘Doctor Watson’s terrible war wound.’ John shrugged off the concerned questions and looked quizzically at Sherlock when they had a moment alone.

  
“I may have exaggerated the lingering severity of your injury during the hunt.” He replied sheepishly.

  
“God, they’re treating me like I have one foot in the grave.”

  
Sherlock shrugged, “I may have used the phrase, ongoing regime of debilitating operations to repair life threatening complications.”

  
John raised the Scotch glass to his lips to hide his smile. Trust Sherlock to string together a sentence that said nothing but implied everything.

  
Lady Castorbridge chose that moment to join them, placing a gentle hand on Sherlock’s forearm, leaning in conspiratorially, “I’m pleased to see you looking more content Sherlock. It must be comforting to be back, close to your….John.”

  
Sherlock huffed a meaningless noise but nevertheless moved slightly closer to John. Taking the hint, Lady Castorbridge moved away after flashing John a warm yet pitying look.

  
Sherlock leaned down slightly to John, “I may have cemented the effect with a few tears. Perhaps I overdid it.”

  
John snorted into his scotch and then delicately wiped his face free of the golden droplets. “I can imagine. Do you think we’ve spent the requisite amount of time here?”

  
Sherlock glanced at his watch, “Give it another fifteen minutes and we’ll slip away. My room?” he asked without dissembling.

  
John nodded, shifting idly from one foot to the other his enthusiasm to be gone, clear.

  
 **Twenty minutes later**

  
“I can’t decide if I love these tailored shirts more than I hate these buttons.” John muttered as he pulled each methodically from their hole, moving remorselessly down Sherlock’s chest.

  
“It’s likely a tie with the love/hate relationship I have with your jumpers. They’re terribly dull but I can’t help imagining what lies beneath the deceptive woolly exterior.” Sherlock tugged the hem up and over John’s head before starting on his button down.

  
“I suppose it’s like Christmas, we just need to get through the wrapping to the prize inside.” John leaned down to lick over Sherlock’s already pebbled nipple.

  
“I just bet you were one of those children who tore the paper to get to the presents.” Sherlock dragged John closer by the waist of his jeans.

  
“Nope, I always took my time, savouring every moment.” John’s hands dropped to the button at Sherlock’s trousers but slowed and made teasing detours down either side, circling and pressing lightly.

  
“That explains why you're taking your…..”Sherlock bit back a groan, “..own sweet time now.”

  
John grinned; face equal parts delight and mischief. He had plans for Sherlock tonight. Always so controlling and constrained, John suspected that with the right encouragement his aloof and polished detective could be persuaded to surrender his tightly held control and John longed to be there at that moment. He’d seen tantalising glimpses of that abandonment in the past 24 hours and John was desperate to see more.

  
So tonight, for John, it was about Sherlock; Sherlock's needs, Sherlock's pleasure, and Sherlock's surrender. Audience or no, John intended to take the man in front of him apart, once broken whimper at a time.

  
"Shhhh..." John gentled, "Relax, Just relax Sherlock. Some things are better savoured." John continued to drag fingers along fabric as Sherlock leaned into his hands.

  
"And some things...hnnffff," Sherlock made a needy noise and tried to drag a resisting John toward him, "...are better just hedonistically gorged upon."

  
John moved his hands to Sherlock's, tugging them away from where they were insistently trying to drag down the zip of John's jeans, "Let's just do this my way, I want to." He looked up and caught Sherlock's eyes with his, serious for a moment, "I  need to, OK?"

  
Sherlock must have seen something in the look because he immediately relented, relinquishing control without a word. The tension went out of his arms and they relaxed under John's fingers. In reward, John returned his hands to Sherlock's crotch, flicking open the clasp and drawing down the zip.

  
Sherlock shivered under his hands but was otherwise still, allowing John to set the pace. He passively stood against the foot of the bed, palms pressed gently to John's chest touching but not holding.

  
John smiled. Sherlock was not naturally a man of patience, coming to decisions in a heartbeat and haring off on a mad chase toward his conclusions. For him to simply stand and wait touched something deep inside John. More than any words, this simple stillness told John how much Sherlock cared for him.

  
Mirroring the taller man, John brought his own hands up to Sherlock's chest and pushed gently until his knees bent and he sank his arse to the bed. Continuing the momentum, John continued forward, crawling onto the bed after Sherlock and leaning him slowly back, and crouched above him.

  
"God you're really something," John whispered in awe, "I hope you know that I can't imagine wanting to be anywhere else."  
Sherlock looked up, his pale eyes locked with John's and unsure exactly what response John wanted, so in answer he curled a hand around the back of John's neck and drew him down for a deep and open mouth kiss. He tried to keep the kiss passionate but not demanding, showing John that staying here with him was all he'd ever ask.

  
John continued the kiss for some time, his forearms bracketing either side of Sherlock's head, his thighs beginning to tremble slightly with the effort of holding himself above Sherlock's torso, the situation not helped by Sherlock's hands on his hips, tugging gently downward with wordless hope.

  
But John wouldn't be persuaded. Pulling away from those delectable lips, John quirked a determined lip, "Nope, not yet."

  
"John.." Sherlock reached up to draw him back down before letting his hand fall to the bed as John dodged away.

  
"No, you don't want it enough yet. I have loads of things I want to do to you."

  
A flicker of concern crossed Sherlock's face, quickly replaced by curiosity and desire and John eased back off the bed.

  
"C'mon you, scoot father up the bed. You can't be comfortable with your legs hanging off like that.

  
Sherlock stood and reached to drop his trousers before John playfully swatted his hands away, "I don't believe I said you could take them off yet, I'll tell you when."

  
Blue eyes flashed and for a moment, John thought he'd pushed Sherlock beyond his questionable tolerance before the tall man smiled and turned to crawl on hands and knees up the bed, arse waggling with each awkward step. Reaching the head of the bed, he turned and settled against the headboard, zip still gaping open and John's willpower weakened for a moment.

  
What restored his resolve was the premeditated way Sherlock then licked his lips and dragged a long slow leer down John's body. It was just a little too measured, calculated and John saw it for the attempt to wrest control that it was.

  
"None of that, you manipulative bastard," John sniggered without rancour, "I'm wise to your tricks."

  
Sherlock grinned and rolled his eyes, "So be it, John. Very well, I'm at your mercy."

  
"Damn straight you are." John dropped his own jeans to the floor, leaving him in only his underwear and made his way up the bed until his head hovered over Sherlock's crotch. "What have we here? These pants seem overly full. Should I check?"

  
Not trusting himself to speak and risk John delaying yet again, Sherlock nodded in what he hoped was a suitably submissive way and groaned in relief as John settled between Sherlock's thighs and nuzzled the soft grey cotton covering his erection.  
"God.." Sherlock muttered hoarsely resisting the temptation to lift his hips, "More..please."

  
"Alright, since you've been so good....Lift up." John placed his thumbs in the belt loops of Sherlock's trousers and as Sherlock tilted his hips off the bed, pulled them down hooking them with a foot when they got to the level of Sherlock's knees and pushing them the rest of the way. John glanced down at the straining boxer briefs, "Pants too?" he asked cheekily.

  
Swallowing the expletive that threatened to burst forth, Sherlock instead looked pleadingly at John and said, very carefully, "Please....yes, please."

  
John looked delighted and lifted the elastic up and over, releasing Sherlock from the confines of his briefs and smirked at the breathy sigh from the head of the bed as he slowly worked the stretchy fabric down, tugging them off Sherlock's feet before kissing his way inch by delectable inch up his calves and thighs, settling back in his spot between his lover's thighs.

  
John huffed warm air over Sherlock's cock, "Gorgeous...just gorgeous" before licking a long smooth stripe up the not inconsiderable length.

  
Sherlock gasped and John chuckled as an errant muscle spasm resulted in him receiving a demanding tap in the chin from the cock in question.

  
John looked up the length of Sherlock's pale body, eyes sparkling, "I suppose I should have expected your little head to be just as pushy and imperious as your big head."

  
Sherlock smiled tightly but there was humour in his voice, "If you're expecting me to exert any control over it, I fear you'll be sadly disappointed. It's had a mind of its own since I was ten."

  
John laughed, "So, doesn't come with its own mind palace or anything?"

  
"Sadly no. Completely useless on cases." Sherlock shifted his hips as the warmth of John's breath caressed needy skin. "Although you'll be surprised to hear it's by far the more stubborn one once it gets its mind set on something....like now."

  
John leaned to kiss the defamed member on the tip, "Hard to believe..." John swirled his tongue around the crown, "...anything could be more stubborn...than you."

  
Whatever Sherlock's reply, it was lost to mumbled groans as John settled in, licking and sucking up and down each side, curling his tongue around the head and closing his lips over the top and stroking down and back up.

  
As Sherlock became progressively more vocal and the movements of his hips more determined, John pulled off with a wet pop and crawled up Sherlock's body as the detective whined plaintively at the loss of warmth and sensation.

  
"No..John..why?" he moaned pathetically.

  
"Shhhh, I'll look after you, I promise. I just have something else in mind if you're OK with it?" John kissed Sherlock's lips, and swallowed the groan as the desperate man tasted his own pre-cum on John's lips.

  
"Anything, just...anything." Sherlock turned toward John, seeking to gather him closer.

  
"Love you." The from John words came easier this time, and though no less true, were more sure than the previous time, when they'd slipped out accidentally. He rolled over, scrabbling in the side drawer for the tube he'd thrown in that afternoon.

  
There was stilling of movement as Sherlock's eyes widened and he shook his head hesitantly but clearly, "No..John, please....I love you but..no."

  
The words were like cold water on John's mood. The rejection hard and indisputable, he turned his head away so Sherlock couldn't see the hurt bloom in his eyes. He'd honestly thought that Sherlock wanted this, wanted him like this and the sudden knowledge that perhaps his desire outstripped the younger man was difficult to stomach.

  
The lube fell from his fingers to the bedspread and he rolled away, erection wilted, standing swiftly and facing away from the bed.

  
"John..please..I didn't..." Sherlock sounded stricken, "Come back to bed, please."

  
John shook his head, tears pricking his eyes as he gathered his discarded clothes from the foot of the bed. Feeling sick he headed for the door.

  
"John.." Sherlock scrambled from the bed and reached for John.

  
"No..Sherlock, just..don't OK. I'll..." John cleared his throat roughly, "I'll see you in the morning." And with that he fled the room.


	5. The walls have ears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seriously NSFW!  
> Sherlock and John have gotten their wires crossed a bit and need to sort things out. John's angry, Sherlock's upset, John's Confused, Sherlock explains, a breakthrough is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can't leave our boys frustrated and angry, can we? Time to sort things out. Then...we can get back to solving this case.

Torn between anger and soul crushing despair, John resisted the urge to lash out as he slammed his bedroom door behind him. Hands balled into fists at his side he threw his clothes across the room

"Fuck! Damnit to....." He paced angrily the length of the room, "...fuck!" Turning to the mirror on the wall, hardly caring if there was anyone lurking on the other side he pointed at it and shouted, "And you can fuck off too...just.....fuck off." He lifted a chair from the small desk in the corner and made to swing it at the glass before stopping himself and instead throwing it to the carpet.

He sunk to the floor, leaning against the foot of the bed and put his head in his hands suppressing devastated tears as the combined adrenaline of arousal, panic, anger and loss bled away leaving him achey and hollow.

He'd stuffed it up, stuffed it all up. By pushing too hard, or rushing too fast or...something. He punched a clenched fist against the floor. That was the problem wasn't it? He didn't know. He'd been sure Sherlock was right there with him, every step of the way. The flirting, the touching, everything following that awkward moment in the library when Sherlock had brought their mouths together. He ran a shaky hand through his hair feeling lost and alone.

The door of his room slammed open revealing a very naked Sherlock, wild-eyed and breathing like he'd run half way from London.

"John!" he seemed frozen in place in the doorway.

"Jesus Sherlock," John turned away bitterly, "Put some clothes on, I don't need you standing there like that right now."

Sherlock took one step forward and closed the door gently behind him, he made no move to cover himself, "You left," he said simply.

"Of course I bloody left!" John pulled himself to his feet, unwilling to concede unnecessary additional height to the man. "You said stop, Sherlock. This is what a man does when his partner says stop....he..." John waved his hands in the air in frustration, "....stops."

Sherlock took another faltering step forward, but there was a note of frustration in his own voice, "I didn't say stop."

John rolled his eyes skyward, "No....you didn't...you said no! Which pretty much amounts to the same thing. A bloke is next to you, lube in hand and you're naked and you say no it pretty much means the same thing." John knew the words sounded harsh, but rejection was still singing through his veins and on a deep instinctive level he wanted Sherlock to suffer some of the pain he'd inflicted.

"John.." Sherlock took another shuffling step closer.

"PUT SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON!" John shouted, patience exhausted.

Sherlock flinched back as if struck, eyes narrowing as if expecting a physical blow to accompany the words and John realised he'd unconsciously closed the distance between them and was now standing mere inches from Sherlock, shaking with barely contained anger. He forced himself to take a large step back.

"Sorry..." John held his hands up, palms open, "Sorry, that was well out of line. Look, Sherlock you need to go. Just go back to bed. Forget tonight happened, forget I suggested anything. Just go...please."

"No." The single word was hushed but firm.

John shook his head in disbelief and looked away, "No?....Alright, no. You know what Sherlock, I don't know what you want from me. I really don't," John conceded defeat, the anger drained from his voice and he let the broken tatters of hurt and despair show through. He'd never been able to hide anything from Sherlock anyway, and he was too tired to try, "I thought you wanted this, you said you wanted this, and I....stupid, sentimental, idiot John Watson jumped in with both feet. But it's fine, it's all fine," John parroted back the lines he reached for at times like this, "We'll get finished here, and we'll go home and we can get back to normal and it'll all...."John swallowed around the uncomfortable lump in his throat, "...it..will...all..be..fine."

"No." Sherlock repeated.

John felt tears threatening and pushed them down, pressing his fingernails into his own palms as he stared sightlessly at the floor, "Right....OK...I'll move out then," he offered pathetically," Just...give me a couple of days. Please." He choked on the words. They were done, it was over. Just like that? Could it be over just like that? John wished the ground would open up and swallow him and get it over quickly.

"God John, No." Something in Sherlock's tone made John look up and finally see the tears pooling in Sherlock's eyes. The taller man looked broken, his calm exterior shattered like glass. As he watched, a fat tear escaped the dark lashes and rolled down his face, hugging his cheekbones before tracing a path down his cheek.

John's mouth fell open and his own ruthlessly controlled tears clouded his vision pressing against the dam of his own eyelids. He chocked out, "Then what? I don't know...." John struggled with the conflicting emotions crowding for space in his heart, "...God Sherlock, I don't know what to do."

Sherlock closed the space between them, placing a featherlight hand on John's shoulder, "It'll be alright, John. Come here, just hold me...for now...just hold me. Please?"

John fell more than stepped into Sherlock's arms, desperate to regain what he feared he'd lost, hiding the tears that would no longer be held back as he felt the wetness of Sherlock's own on his shoulder.

"Shhhh, I'm sorry...I'm sorry John." Sherlock repeated over and over again, stroking gentle hands down the plane of John's back, holding him tight against him, "I didn't mean, hell..that I didn't want you..that I don't want to...just.." Sherlock was babbling between damp kisses to John's shoulder. "I just..."

John pulled back just far enough to make eye contact, "Just what, Sherlock. We've clearly gotten all mixed up over this. What did you mean?"

Sherlock looked at John and flicked his eyes up to the mirror on the wall. Taking his hand, he led John to the corner of the room, virtually flush against the wall the mirror was on. Placing his hands on either side of John's face he kissed him tenderly and thoroughly before hugging him tightly again. "I hate those mirrors. I hate that because of them, I hurt you. I didn't mean to, I swear it John."

"I don't understand." John remained pressed up against Sherlock, unable to resist the warmth of him so close and he could feel the beginnings of their erections stirring against each other again.

"I do want you. Oh John, I can't even begin to tell you how much." Sherlock pressed them together a little harder, hoping it may show John how much.

"Then why?" John pressed idly back, trying to concentrate on Sherlock's words.  
"I don't want to share it with...whomever is watching. I want it to just be us when that happens." Sherlock blushed, the colour rising up his neck as he cast his eyes away.

The lingering anxiety and confusion fell away. It made sense, in a weird Sherlocky kind of way. With the exception of their first night here, Sherlock had been fastidious in the locations they'd chosen. The bathroom and then the pool, both unmonitored. Things clicked into place with alarming clarity and John dragged in a long cleansing breath.

"I understand...Oh love, I understand. Finally!" John dragged Sherlock's face down and kissed him on cheekbones, eyelids, temples, carding his hands through curls, "You gorgeous, magnificent, complex man." John grinned as joy overtook him, "You don't want them to see you. That's it..isn't it. You don't want anyone but me to see you when you...."

Sherlock made a discomforted face, "Yes, alright. I know it isn't fair, and you had to..." he made an odd tilting motion with his head that could have meant virtually anything and was yet perfectly clear. "But I..." he hesitantly searched for words, "..don't want to." He looked desperately to John, seeking acceptance.

"So earlier?"

"I thought I'd be fine, that I could do it and I would have, John. I was nearly there. But you...and the tube..and it all came rushing back and..."He paused again, "Not here, just...not with them watching, please."

John stepped back, not far, just enough to be able to clasp Sherlock's hands in his own and whispered, "Come back to bed."

"John...?"

"Just..." John stilled his question, "Come back to bed. I understand now, I'm sorry I didn't think to ask and I'm sorry you didn't tell me, but we're OK now. So....come back to bed."

Sherlock crossed the room to douse the lights as John pulled back the bedcovers and crawled under, motioning Sherlock to join him. This time, John had discarded his underwear and for the first time that night they were finally naked together under the sheets breathing a sigh of joint relief as they slotted back together in the limited privacy the covers offered.

John pulled the sheets over their heads and for a moment it felt like an odd pornographic sleepover until he banished that peculiar thought. He brushed gentle fingers over Sherlock's cheeks, locating him in the virtual darkness, "We're never going to do anything you don't want. I thought I was losing you and I don't ever want to feel that again, so as much as I'd like to reduce you to a whimpering mess.." He smiled as Sherlock's breath caught at the idea, "....and I will, at home; tonight, you call the shots. We can do nothing, or everything, or anything you want. Just tell me what you want Sherlock."

Sherlock's breath stuttered, and his erection pressed against John's hip, "I left the lube in the other room." Sherlock said by way of a hinted explanation.

"I have more in my drawer but, are you sure? I didn't think you..."

"I was thinking more.....you...If you'd like."

John felt the bead of pre-cum trickle wetly down his length at the suggestion, "Oh yes..yes please."

"Can we....like we did the first night...I want to take care of you, it keeps me grounded, gives me something to think about."  
"But don't you want to....?"

"Maybe" the voice in the dark was thoughtful, undecided, "Can I say maybe?"

John dove in for a reassuring kiss, "You can say anything you want, just tell me, OK?"

Sherlock huffed a relaxed laugh, "Yes, OK. Won't be making that mistake again."

John rolled away to the drawer as he had done in Sherlock's room only a few hours ago but this time he gently pressed the tube into Sherlock's hand. "We have a lifetime of mistakes to make. Let's just promise to make them together, OK."

Sherlock closed his hand over the tube and John's fingers raising them to his lips, "Forever."

Sherlock pressed John back onto the bed, worming his way down under the sheets, taking his time to play with John's nipples on the way. Seeming undecided which side to grace with his talented tongue, he satisfied himself with rolling one between his fingers while he sucked and nibbled at the other, then swapping sides. Once he'd reduced John to what he clearly thought was a sufficient level of incomprehensible babbling, he continued his exploration downward, seeking out ticklish spots with alarming acuity and an almost childlike delight until John was forced to drag his head away from a particularly reactive spot with a fierce tug on Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock hissed but took the hint, resuming his serpentine progress until he was nestled against John's hip, kissing the planes of the bones as they flat under the skin.

He reached to stroke idly at John's cock, enough to maintain John's arousal but not designed to ratchet up his pleasure. Sherlock seemed to be taking note of each twitch and sigh and wriggle and was storing it away for future reference. John was content to let him explore and play after the drama of the past hours until Sherlock tapped him gently on the stomach.

"Need something?" John asked fondly.

"Pillow." Came the voice from under the sheets.

"Planning on sleeping down there?" he chuckled.

The only answer was another insistent tap and John handed down the spare pillow.

"Lift." Sherlock's voice was gently insistent.

John placed his hands flat on the mattress and obediently raised his hips from the bed as Sherlock slotted the pillow underneath, lifting his arse into the air. It felt exposing and intimate and John couldn't be happier. His cock rubbed gently on the sheet above him and he wriggled in delight.

Unlike Sherlock, John had no qualms about any potential audience. Screw them, he thought. If they want to watch him having spectacular sex with his genius lover, then more power to them. John hoped that when he came, his screams shattered their eardrums.

Sherlock shuffled between his legs and, although John was expecting the distinctive click of the tube lid, he instead suddenly felt Sherlock's warm moist breath intimately close before he licked a slow and methodical path up his perineum gently over his balls and up his cock.

What with one hand steadying John's erection while he happily licked the head and tongued the frenulum, John would never know how Sherlock managed to open the tube and pour a pool of the liquid in his own palm. However he managed it, John felt the warmed liquid dribble down past his balls and between his arse cheeks. He groaned and entwined his fingers in Sherlock's hair.  
John felt a delicate finger trail down, and tentatively circle the puckered hole. Lifting off John's cock Sherlock asked in a slightly horse whisper, "OK?"

John panted back, squirming against Sherlock's exploring digit, "Yeah...oh hell yeah. As much as you want, whatever you want."

Sherlock returned to his gentle circling, sometimes tapping gently in the centre sending increasingly intense spasms through John's nervous system. At the same time, he continued a coordinated attack on John's erection, beginning with the head and taking progressively more into his mouth with each pass. Just when John thought he'd go mad with the repetitive feeling, Sherlock paused and dipped a fingertip inside to stroke around the sensitive rim and John could do nothing but grip the sheets and hope that he came before his heart gave out.

Deep in the fog of pleasure, John reflected on the fact that he'd begun the night with the intention of teasing apart the restrained mask that Sherlock wore. Instead, he was, himself in real danger of crumbling into a shattered pile of want, victim to the talented tongue and fingers of his lover. A hysterical giggle slipped from his lips as he resolved to greet his fate like the soldier he was.

Sherlock paused and lifted his head at the laughter, working his way back up John's body and poked his head out the top of the sheet, his lips red and puffy from pleasuring John.

"Did you giggle?" He asked, curious eyes holding Johns.

"No..." John said slowly, "No..no...OK yes. It was intense, and my insane, genius and gorgeous flatmate had his finger in my arse and his lips around my cock and my brain rebelled and it might have just..slipped out."

Sherlock grinned, "Slipped out."

"A bit." John smiled back, perilously close to giggling again.

Sherlock kissed John on the lips, and dropped his voice so it resonated in the quiet room, "By the time I'm finished with you, you won't be capable of laughing." He moved his lips to John's ear and continued, "I'm going to destroy you."

John didn't think it was possible for him to get any harder, but his cock jumped where Sherlock still held it at the base and he arched and thrust into his grip. Tall enough to remain at John's head while still able to reach between John's legs with his long arms, Sherlock released his cock and returned to his stimulation of John's hole, plundering mouth and arse with matching strokes. As he dipped deeper with his finger, his tongue did the same, as his tongue swirled, John felt the fingertip match it. He seemed unable to fully concentrate on both and his brain switched desperately between the competing sensations. His cock struggled for friction against Sherlock's arm and his lover took pity on him, guiding John's hand down to close around himself.

Sherlock's finger brushed over his prostate adding another new level of intensity and John realised distantly that he had begun making a low whining grunt each time Sherlock's finger returned to the spot. He could feel Sherlock's cock rubbing wetly against his hip where he'd curled around him and his pleasure built impossibly higher. He broke away from Sherlock's mouth to gasp for air, lost in a loop of need and want and love for this amazing man.

He gathered enough air and wits to gasp out a single word, "Sherlock!" before he was coming violently, his arse clenching on Sherlock's finger as he spent himself over his own fingers in burst after shuddering burst. Sherlock crushed his lips down as if swallowing John's cries, devouring his pleasure like a rare delicacy. His finger slipped gently free as he gathered John to him, rocking him as he twitched and shuddered, catching his breath and hoping his sight returned at some stage.

Through the rushing of the blood in his ears, he began to hear Sherlock's gentle voice murmuring, "Shhh, I've got you love. I'm here, you're safe" and he realised he was sobbing. With joy, with relief, he didn't know, only that the tears were falling heedlessly as he gripped the man curled around him.

He thought he must have drifted to sleep because he felt Sherlock cleaning him with a damp cloth although he couldn't remember him leaving the bed. Whatever the case, the hands were kind, gentle and loving and John drifted back to sleep, knowing he was safe in Sherlock's arms.


	6. I'm sorry, you said what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John are anxious to wrap up the case and get home to Baker Street. How can they get the missing piece of information from Lord Castorridge?

**Morning**

John didn't awaken facing Sherlock on the pillow the following morning. Instead, he woke curled against him; head tucked against the tall man's chest, legs intertwined and Sherlock's arms wrapped proprietorially around him. Sherlock's chin was tucked against the top of John's head and through his gritty eyes, he was looking at the roof through tendrils of Sherlock's dark hair that had fallen against his face.

Not quite so romantic was the sticky puddle of drool where his mouth was pressed to Sherlock's skin, or the damp sweaty spots where Sherlock's hands pressed against his back. Nevertheless John's smile stretched wide and he wondered exactly how late they'd slept.

"It's just past 9." Sherlock's rumbling baritone tickled the hairs on his head and he gently began to ease away.

"I don't even want to know how you deduced that." John untangled himself from sheets and Sherlock alike and lay flat on the bed, "Think we've missed breakfast?"

Sherlock laughed easily, rising from the opposite side of the bed, "You really do embody Maslo's Hierarchy of needs, John. It makes keeping you happy delightfully simple."

John quirked an eyebrow at Sherlock, he vaguely remembered the topic from school but, to borrow one of Sherlock's favourite terms, he'd probably 'deleted it'...if in fact it had penetrated in the first place.

"Am I hungry, can I breathe?" Sherlock clarified. "Once over the essentials you move onto safety and self-fulfilment. I've found that as long as I have you supplied with jam and tea, my blogger is remarkably content."

"Might be adding another essential to the list after last night. You rather outdid yourself there."

Sherlock snorted, "Well, you did giggle part way through. I couldn't let that stand unchallenged." He looked around the room seemingly looking for something before realisation brought the search to a halt.

"Looking for something?"

"No." Sherlock said, a little abashed.

"You've just realised your clothes are in the other room, haven't you." John stretched out tired muscles, and looked admiringly at his new lover.

"Perhaps." Sherlock replied slowly.

"Take my robe. I'll hop in the shower and you can bring it back when you're dressed. But make it quick. I want toast."

"And what you want....you shall have." Sherlock shrugged on the robe and made haste out the door.

**Half an hour later**

"Oh I'm sorry Mr Holmes, I almost forgot, this came for you this morning by courier." Lady Castorbridge passed a small parcel over the table.

Sherlock recognised the distinctive cursive scrawl of his brother immediately and he put the parcel to one side unopened, focussing instead on watching John pile an unlikely amount of jam on a piece of toast and then attempt to transfer the resulting combination into his mouth. Smothering his smile behind a teacup, Sherlock instead selected his third danish of the morning from the pastry tray.

"I'm sorry the rain has set in again," Lady Castorbridge said sadly, "I daresay you'll find something to amuse yourselves."

The Lord looked up at his wife, scowling over his newspaper but said nothing. His mood was becoming steadily more adversarial and if indeed he'd had reports of the previous night's activities, Sherlock wasn't surprised. He clearly objected to homosexual relationships and however much he may prefer to remain in ignorance, his choice to blackmail powerful people for their sexual preferences meant the reality was thrust in his face with unfortunate regularity. It was clear he found the evidence of such activities deeply distasteful.

"Oh I daresay Lady Castorbridge. John has more than enough writing to catch up on and I couldn't help but notice your herb garden in the conservatory. I was wondering if I could perhaps beg your permission to have a poke around."

She virtually glowed with pride, "Oh I'd be delighted Mr Holmes. My only request is that you pull any weeds as you go."

"It will be my pleasure, my dear. My absolutely pleasure."

**Half an hour later**

John hunted down Sherlock as he sat quietly on a bench in the conservatory.

"I assumed you'd want me to follow you. Was I right?" John came to join him on the stone seat.

"Quite correct. Mycroft has sent us a gift." Sherlock held up a distinctive black USB key with a tiny symbol resembling a portcullis topped with a crown. "Although _gift_ may be misleading. The mystery of the bodies in the river has been solved. It appears that the victims made a copy of some crucial evidence when they left. In his....enthusiasm to recover it, Mycroft believes Lord Castorbridge decided to take matters into his own hands. This is an exact duplicate of the key the men had, and since Lord Castorbridge has almost certainly now destroyed the original, we need to recover the copy he took from the dead men."

"But we don't know where it is!" John exclaimed, frustrated.

"Actually," Sherlock smiled slyly, "We do. It's around his Lordship's neck, I saw it during the hunt yesterday."

"But how do we get it back?"

"I'm going to pick a fight."

"Oh.....right."

**Two hours later**

Sherlock made a beeline for the Lord of the estate as he walked down the hallway toward them. Engaging John in a hurried conversation about the value of Comfrey as a treatment for burns he barrelled onward until he jostled the oncoming man firmly on the shoulder.

"Oh..I'm sorry, " Sherlock blathered, "Well, obviously not really. An attractive man like yourself sir, I'd be an imbecile not to want to touch you." His words rushed on as he placed a palm on the chest of an increasingly incensed Lord of the estate, "Perhaps you and I could...."

"Get your filthy hands off me, you faggot." Lord Castorbridge shoved Sherlock back hard, before wiping his hand on his trousers as if touching him had somehow left a taint on his skin.

"Excuse me?" Sherlock's voice bristled at the term. "What did you call me....sir?"

"You heard me....."

Sherlock's voice dropped, tone clipped and icy, "I'm not sure I did....perhaps you might like to repeat it."

Lord Castorbridge stepped forwards, virtually shaking with rage, clearly happy to finally have the chance to voice out loud the hateful thoughts he'd been bottling up for days, "I said.....you're a filthy....cock-sucking....faggot. You sad, worthless excuse for a man."

"Man enough to put you on the ground," Sherlock stared unflinching into the other man's eyes, ".....SIR."

His Lordship laughed a sick and derisive laugh, "Oh really? Care to put that to the test."

"Oh...more than happy." Sherlock smiled, "Just name the time."

"The gym, one hour. Although I'll assume you fight the way you do everything else.....dirty."

He turned and strode away before Sherlock could reply, which suited Sherlock perfectly. Baiting the unpleasant man was exactly his plan. Turning to John, Sherlock smiled brightly and whispered, "I suppose I'd better go and change clothes."

John closed his mouth where it still hung open in surprise and followed the lanky detective back down the hall.

**One hour later**

"You simply can't. I forbid it, Mr Holmes is our guest Peter!" Lady Castorbridge was verging on tears.

"Shut up Madeleine. Just keep out of this." He spat back.

She stormed from the room, her lip quivering in dismay.

Watching from the sidelines, John spoke quietly as he watched Sherlock stretch, "Are you sure about this?"

"Quite sure, you'd be surprised what they teach you at some of the better schools. Just be ready to make the switch, you won't have much time."

"I'll be ready. When is Mycroft due?"

"Not much longer. Once this fight's over, I rather suspect they'll be glad to see the back of us. Ready?"

John nodded uneasily. A lot could go wrong in a bare knuckle fight. One good strike, one wrong fall and men could be crippled, even killed. John's medical senses were tingling and on high alert.

Sherlock stepped to the centre of the room. Standing easily in bare feet, tracksuit pants and a t-shirt, he looked younger and more at ease than usual and yet John knew he was all business as he waited for the fight to begin.

Peter Castorbridge stepped up and cracked his knuckles. Sherlock took that as the attempted sign of bravado it undoubtedly was.

Circling slowly, Sherlock consciously pulled additional air into his lungs, feeling the build of adrenalin sharpening his reactions, his vision. He took a step back, bracing himself as Lord Castorbridge rushed forward, using the oncoming momentum to turning the man around as he passed. With a roar of frustration he turned back and rushed again. Sherlock's fist made contact with his stomach resulting in an interesting yet satisfying wheezing sound from the injured man. Recovering quickly, he stepped away and straightened up, anger clear on his face. More warily, he stood a moment, circling again, sizing Sherlock up more carefully. That was unacceptable, Sherlock thought, he needed him angry and unbalanced. Sherlock baited him subtly, relaxing his knees slightly he flicked his eyes to the side as if paying insufficient attention. That was all the temptation his opponent needed. Lowering his head slightly, he ran forward again and Sherlock took the advantage as it presented itself.

Grabbing the Lord's outstretched arm as he stormed forward, he stepped to one slide and lifted and turned, hearing and feeling the sickening, crunching pop as he dislocated the man's shoulder. In another place and time, he might spare a moment of sympathy for the pain he'd just inflicted but given the nature of the man who crumpled to the floor writhing and screaming, he found it hard to muster much in the way of regret.

On cue, John ran forward, muttering platitudes and fussing over the fallen man. As Lord Castorbridge's wife rushed into the room, John slipped one USB key off the man's neck and replaced it with the one Mycroft had supplied, masking the movement under the guise of fitting a makeshift sling around the man's neck.

Stepping away, John made room for Madeline Castorbridge to kneel at her husband's side, "Oh, my dear, what happened? Somebody call a doctor, can't you see he's hurt."

"He's dislocated his shoulder. Terrible accident." John said, "I'll go and ring an ambulance." John nodded to Sherlock, indicating they should leave as soon as possible.

"Well done, John." Sherlock muttered as they headed down the hall.

John scowled, "Don't sound so pleased, he'd badly hurt, Sherlock."

"Should I remind you he killed two men."

John slowed and then stopped before turning to Sherlock, "That's a fair point." he conceded, "He did, didn't he?"

"At the very least, he ordered their deaths. I'd say he had a bit of pain coming."

"We should still call an ambulance."

Sherlock grinned as he pulled out his mobile phone, "Of course. I'm not a sociopath."

John tried to stifle giggles as they walked to the front door as Mycroft's black sedan pulled up, and failed utterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The symbol on the USB key that Mycroft sends is that of the UK Houses of Parliament Coat of Arms.
> 
> Thanks for the continued readership, we're almost home.


	7. And so to bed....again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the case if over and the prying eyes behind the mirrors are gone. Our boys return to Baker Street for some unfinished business.  
> NSFW....nakedness, beds, sex and all the good stuff.
> 
> Note: My Beta hasn't had a chance to check this yet, I'll come back and fix any typos and stuff-ups soon. But I didn't want to make you wait any longer

Sherlock was reasonably sure he’d never been as glad to close the door of 221B behind him as when he dumped his bag down and swung it shut after Mycroft dropped them off.

He felt as though his skin was pulled too thin; stretched almost to breaking over his bones. Now that the risks of the past few days were over, the long stored adrenaline was leeching away leaving behind odd twitches, aches and an almost uncontrollable need to yawn. His teeth felt too tight, was that even possible; for someone’s teeth to be too tight?

John made a quick detour upstairs to drop off his duffel before heading back in through the kitchen door to switch on the kettle and pull two cups down from the cupboard.

Sherlock eyed his armchair before instead choosing to sprawl on the sofa, pulling a blanket up to wrap around himself as he settled.

“Don’t go to sleep there, you know you’ll regret it in the morning.”

Sherlock snuffled tiredly, “Just for a while, too keyed up to sleep yet.”

John nodded as he approached carrying two cups, “Lift your legs.”

Obediently Sherlock bent at the waist, his legs lifting like Tower Bridge and resettling in John’s lap once the tea was safely on the coffee table.

“God, it’s good to be home. Finally I can pick my nose without thinking I have an audience lurking behind the fireplace mirror.” John lounged back into the soft leather.

“Not the first thing on my list of things to do, but yes I take your point.” Sherlock chuckled, relaxing as John lifted one of his feet and started massaging the tension out of it, “That’s nice…keep doing that.”

Silence settled around the two men. John’s hands worked steadily over Sherlock’s feet and ankles in an odd way that seemed both clinically therapeutic and incredibly intimate and yet. Now they were back at home, Sherlock was unsure how the changes wrought in their relationship in the past days would translate to Baker Street. The surreal, vaguely otherworldly environment of the estate had little to do with their everyday lives and it was entirely possible that, like a summer holiday when you slept late and ate badly, the illusion would disappear upon returning to normal life.

John’s hands stilled their movement on Sherlock’s ankles and when he glanced over, he saw John’s head nodding gently back against the sofa, his eyes drifting closed.

“John…..” Sherlock nudged him with a toe, “John, go to bed.”

“Mmmmm?” Came the groggy reply.

“You’re dead on your feet. Go to bed.” Sherlock suggested softly.

“Mmmmm.” John’s eyes blinked open slowly as he nodded, “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

“For what?”

John turned weary eyes toward Sherlock’s end of the couch and then toward Sherlock’s bedroom, “Well…we do have unfinished business, you and I”

Sherlock flushed and smiled, _So….not an illusion_ , “It can wait. We’ve waited this long.”

John rose from the couch before leaning down to place a gentle kiss on Sherlock’s lips, “Yes it can, but not too long, OK?”

From the reaction in his trousers, Sherlock’s erection thought ‘not too long’ should mean ‘as soon as possible,’ but he instead smiled against John’s lips before watching his flatmate turn away, heading for the stairs.

Adjusting himself under the blankets, Sherlock willed himself to wait just a little longer before he too made his way to his room at the end of the hall.

@@@

Sherlock awoke to a dark room. “3am,” he thought. Momentarily considering starting a new experiment in the kitchen, he opted instead for a long and thorough shower before padding softly up the stairs to John’s room.

Silently pushing open the door he regarded his flatmate as gentle snores penetrated the dark room. John’s head was tucked into his pillow, short grey-blonde hair feathered around his head blending with the pale pillowcase. For a moment, Sherlock considered leaving John to his rest, closing the door and returning to his bed but self-interest won-out, as it usually did, and he instead stepped in and closed the door behind him.

John woke when cool air brushed the skin of his bare back. Reaching behind himself to find the doona, assuming it had slipped down he was instead surprised to make content with the warm skin of his flatmate’s chest as he sidled into the bed and spooned up behind him.

“Mmm, you smell good.” John muttered sleepily and inched backward, banishing the last of the space between them.

Sherlock nuzzled his nose into the nape of John’s neck, “You smell like home.”

John chuckled as he arched against the wealth of warm skin pressed against him, “And what does that smell like?”

“Tea, and toast, and gun oil, and just a little bit like a long run down dark alleys….Home smells like you.”

John rolled onto his back enabling him to seek out Sherlock’s lips, “Strange; home smells like honey, damp wool, bow rosin and just a touch of alcohol wipes for me…..I can’t imagine why.”

“One of life’s unsolvable mysteries, I suppose.” Sherlock peppered John’s jaw and neck with soft kisses, tasting with his tongue as he went, “I think I like you unshaven, “ he added absently, “The texture is….interesting.”

“Tell me tomorrow, when you’re sporting stubble-rash. You won’t be thanking me then.”

“I’m hoping to thank you for more than stubble-rash, John.” Sherlock nibbled a particularly interesting bit of skin below John’s ear which earned a gasp and a wriggle closer.

“Then I’ll have to see what I can do.” John grabbed one more kiss before he began a slow and deliberate path down Sherlock’s body.

“Mmmm….Just us…..nobody else….that’s..” Sherlock sucked in a ragged breath as John bit gently on one proud nipple, “..That’s much nicer.”

John threw the blankets back and lay his chin on Sherlock’s chest, “Sorry….I was just….umm..thinking..well..I’ve sort of assumed….and it’s just crossed my mind that I shouldn’t” John stuttered out the words as Sherlock held him in an unwavering gaze.

“Shouldn’t what, John?” Sherlock asked, husky and relaxed.

“Assume…shouldn’t assume that you….umm, “John cleared his throat, “That is…that I’d be the one to…to…to you” he flicked his eyes vaguely toward the foot of the bed together with a tilt of his head.

Sherlock’s easy laugh jostled John’s chin, “Even after all we’ve done in the last week, are you still trying to find a polite way of asking my permission to…and let’s get to the gist of it….insert your cock” Sherlock raised a long pale digit and then made a ring with the finger and thumb of his other hand, “into my arse.” With a decisive motion he brought the hands together in a self-explanatory symbol.

John grinned, his eyes sparkling in what little light penetrated the dark of the room, “Yeah…that.”

Sherlock ran fingers through John’s hair, “Well, since you asked so nicely, “Sherlock’s eyes glittered with mirth, “I’d be delighted. So delighted, in fact, that…….” Sherlock gestured at the small pile of wrappers and tubes on John’s bedside table,”….I brought my own supplies.”

“Good. That’s….good. So..condoms?”

“Up to you,” Sherlock responded matter-of-fact, “Our tests before the case were clear and we both know where we spent our nights while at the estate. But if you want them…”

“No. No…that’s…so, no condoms”

John looked thoughtful and Sherlock stopped carding his hand through John’s hair for a moment to ask, “John? We can use them if you like. I don’t mind.”

“No. It’s just…Huh,” He huffed in realisation, “I don’t think I’ve ever had unprotected sex. It’s…”

“It’s what?” Sherlock asked, concerned.

John grinned again and started moving down Sherlock’s body again, “It’s pretty hot,” As his head dipped down, breathing long and deep at Sherlock’s navel and mumbled, “It’s very fucking hot, actually.”

Sherlock chuckled low in his throat and arched against John’s hands as they stilled and gripped his hips. John knew where Sherlock wanted him, but the temptation to tease and prolong Sherlock’s pleasure was well overdue as far as John was concerned, and there ought to be an extra penalty to be paid for waking the shorter man up at four in the morning. John desperately wanted to see the degree that Sherlock’s control could be sundered with a concerted effort.

Sherlock however, was in no mood to take things slow, fidgeting and squirming under John’s hands and wordlessly canting his hips toward the warmth he knew lay just out of reach. A rumbled growl echoed in response to a muffled laugh from the other end of the bed as John chose to ignore the pointed suggestions and simply peppered the pale skin of each hip with light kisses, stubble rubbing against the sensitive skin.

“Want something?” John asked lightly.

“I’d have thought that was beyond obvious. I assume you have some reason for your blatant disregard of my needs?” Sherlock grumbled.

John hummed at Sherlock’s hip bone causing another wriggle, “MmmmHmmm”, he nodded. “You’re about to get the full benefit of my University College education in anatomy. I’ll be quite thorough I promise you. I’ll pay special attention to nerve responsiveness, reaction times and,” John stroked a single finger down Sherlock’s erection, “Sexual health.”

“And how does this check-up begin…Doctor Watson?” Sherlock laughed as he settled back into the pillow.

“Where all things begin…..with the letter ‘A’…..turn over.”

Obediently flipped himself over, Sherlock crossed his arms under his head.

“I’m going to need one of those,” John gestured at the pillows, “I need to ensure I have a good view of my operating field.” John grinned as Sherlock dragged a spare from the head of the bed and tossed it down.

“I’m assuming ‘A’ is for…..”

“Arse. You have a truly magnificent arse. I could stare at it for hours.”

“And you have…on numerous occasions.” Sherlock jibed.

That earned him a gentle swat on the left cheek, “None of that or I’ll skip the good letters.” John kissed the spot that he’d slapped, and then proceeded to rain down kissed on the remainder of the flesh, “Nobody deserves an arse like this, I think I’ll award it the letter ‘B’ as well, so I can spend more time on it.”

Sherlock giggled, “I’m looking forward to ‘C’.”

“Oh, wrong assumption, I’m assigning the letters.” John was continuing to lavish attention on the toned muscles of Sherlock’s buttocks, interspersing kisses with nips and licks over and around the skin, “Clench for me.”

Following John’s instructions, Sherlock clenched his Gluteal muscles firming the skin.

“There we go,” John purred, “That’s ‘C’ for clench and now…..there they are….’D’ for dimples. I must admit, the dimples at the base of your spine just do it for me. Look at them!” John swirled his tongue in each one in turn.

“John…..” Sherlock’s voice, although muffled by the pillow was needy as he shifted restlessly under John’s ministrations, “Can I turn over for ‘E’....please.” he added hopefully.

John chuckled, “So many choices for ‘E’…ears, eyes…I don’t know what to choose. C’mon, roll over.”

The speed with which Sherlock flipped over verged on childlike, however as John view changed from the smooth skin of his lover’s arse to dark pubic hair and an enthusiastic erection was anything but.

“…’E’ for erection,” John whispered and then added, “which deserves an ‘F’ for fellatio” before sinking his mouth over the head.

“God!” Sherlock’s back arched at the sudden sensation, his voice loud in John’s ears.

 _Oh! I was worried about ‘G’….thanks._ John thought, as he took Sherlock further into his mouth.

If John had been worried about Sherlock’s ability to surrender his control and simply give himself over to sensation, the concerns were dispelled. Away from prying eyes and in the safe hands of his friend and lover, Sherlock was shamelessly vocal and audaciously appreciative of every move John made. His hands alternated between clasping the sheets, John’s hair, and what he could reach of John’s shoulders. Every shred of the cool, calm exterior that Sherlock presented to the world during the day was gone and instead, John had a twitchy, writhing utterly abandoned man whose every moan, grunt and whimper was threatening to erode John’s own ruthlessly held control as his own erection sullenly demanded attention.

John had been with many partners, both men and women, and a scant few had understood how much of John’s pleasure depended on the responsiveness of his partner. Whether it was shaky self-esteem, a need to please, or just a caring nature, John’s enjoyment in bed was fundamentally rooted in his knowledge that his partner was enjoying themselves. As Sherlock lost himself in the sensations his ‘transport’, unable to control the litany of words and sounds that tumbled from his lips, John knew that however close he’d felt to this changeable man before, this new aspect of Sherlock would bind John to him forever.

John pulled off Sherlock’s cock, “Fuck the rest of the alphabet.” John muttered, hoarse and rough.

“Oh, thank God.” Sherlock whimpered back, “Need you now.”

John scrabbled for the tube of lube that had been lying untouched on the blanket, and with hands more shaky than he’d like to admit, he poured a puddle into his palm, warming it as he fisted Sherlock leisurely and hungrily eyed his arse as it lay propped on the pillow.

“Can’t believe I finally have you here, under my hands. Look at you Sherlock, you’re fucking gorgeous.” John ran his hands up Sherlock’s thighs and watched in awe as they splayed apart under his fingers wantonly.

“God, will you just get on with it.” A touch of the familiar bossiness was back but tinged with desperation more than irritation.

John ran fingers down the cleft between Sherlock’s cheeks, smiling at the sharp hiss as Sherlock tensed at the touch, seeking more. “I had intended to have you screaming and begging me, but I can’t resist you when you’re like this.”

“Then I’ll….” Sherlock gasped as John brushed a fingertip across the puckered skin deep in the cleft, finding it looser than expected, “I’ll…..always be like this….for you, only for you.”

“I like the sound of that..” John rumbled, pressing and stroking as Sherlock relaxed under his fingers, “that this is only for me.”

Sherlock stilled and opened his eyes, serious for a moment and catching John’s attention, “Yours. For as long as you want me.”

John surged up the bed to capture Sherlock’s lips with his own, “How does forever sound. I want you forever.” As he said the words, his finger, still reaching down Sherlock’s body and around his curled leg breached the sensitive opening and John swallowed the deep groan of pleasure with his kiss.

“Please,” Sherlock whined, “Now..please. I’m ready.”

“You’re not,” John mumbled into Sherlock’s mouth.

“I am…in the shower, earlier….”

John huffed a gentle laugh, “Ever the impatient genius. Cocky too.”

“You’re a…..” Sherlock pulled another panted breath as John easily added a 2nd finger, “..sure bet.”

“I should just leave you here like this.” John pulled away from Sherlock’s lips and sat up on the bed for a moment, surveying the pale expanse of skin, “Punish you for presuming.”

Sherlock grinned, eyes blown with arousal but glittering with happiness, “We both know that isn’t going to happen.”

“Damn right it’s not.” John grinned back and hoisted one of Sherlock’s legs up and over his shoulder, dragging him down the bed slightly. “OK?”

Sherlock nodded, his eyes flickering closed again in anticipation as John’s cock brushed his hole. Pushing forward inch by glacially slow inch, he paused as the crown slipped opened his mouth to gasp. So tight, so warm, John resisted the desperate urge to just sink into Sherlock’s body in one hard push. He felt the nudge at his hip as Sherlock tried to lift his other leg, taking the hint, John lifted it over his other shoulder and they both moaned as the new angle forced him deeper and the tightness intensified.

“Stop…Can you..just..a moment.” Sherlock’s broken words stilled John’s movements immediately.

“You OK?”

“Yes…yes.” Sherlock managed weakly, “Just….need a second or it’ll be all over.” He added sheepishly, eyes screwed shut, “Sorry.”

John circled Sherlock’s thighs with strong arms supporting his weight, “You’re sorry? Christ Sherlock, I’m on a knife edge too. Can you not see that, what you’re doing to me?”

“Not..helping.” Sherlock muttered through gritted teeth, “Imagining you….not helping.”

John tried not to laugh, knowing the resulting shaking would only make their situation worse and instead concentrated on breathing and picturing Anderson in a dress. That helped.

A hand on his brought him out of his thoughts and he looked into Sherlock’s eyes, clearer and less panicked, as they nodded to each other and John rocked deeper until he felt Sherlock’s arse resting against groin.

“Move…God, John…move.” The plea was filled with such reverence and desire, that John took him at his word and pulled out slightly before sliding smoothly in. Their groan echoing together in the dark room as the movement was repeated.

John could tell the angle was perfect from the flash of response from Sherlock each time he canted his hips forward. The breathy gasps and arching of back telling him more than words and he was grateful for something other than the sensations around his cock to concentrate on.

Sherlock reached up blindly with both hands and John grasped them in his own. Tugging, Sherlock drew John down to lie flush against him, his legs folding upward in an unlikely contortion that John briefly feared would leave him sore for days. But Sherlock didn’t seem to mind, or at least notice as the new position captured his erection between the two of them.

The additional friction was more than Sherlock could withstand and he was suddenly coming, his muscles clenching around John before he had a chance to give any warning, and the extra sensation spelled the end for John as well, flooding his lover as his own orgasm overwhelmed him.

They lay panting against each other until Sherlock managed a weak laugh, “Oops..”

John had heard Sherlock use a lot of words, the man’s vocabulary was huge, but this was a new one, “Oops?”

“Change in position…..Probably a mistake…..Oops.”

John giggled and kissed his way along Sherlock’s jaw to his mouth, “Seemed to work for me.”

“I did notice that..” He held John against him with weak arms, “…Nothing else for it then….”

“Hmmmm?”

“We’ll have to try again.”

“And again….and again.” John rested his head on Sherlock’s chest.

“And again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been a joy to write and the reception has been nothing short of spectacular. Thanks to everyone who's read it, commented, hit the kudos button and generally enjoyed it. Your support is the reason I keep writing (instead of all the other things I SHOULD be doing)


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